Potted film reviews by Gary Anthony Cross

Manhattan (1979)

A middle aged writer juggles relationships with a seventeen year old student, a journalist and his lesbian ex-wife to the backdrop of the New York City skyline.

I honestly don’t think I can watch Woody Allen films any more. Well, not the Allen responsible for this kind of self-absorbed, self-justifying pretentious bullshit. Manhattan is basically just a soap opera populated with terminally self-involved people whom I just wanted to punch in the face. I hated very single one of the smug, pretentious, modern artist name-dropping, modern jazz loving, therapist discussing, insufferable lot of them. I’ve always despised people like this and listening to them drone on about their relationships with one another made me want to spray the screen with indiscriminate automatic weapons fire. It’s very attractively shot and the opening montage featuring the sights and sounds of New York made me want to drop everything and grab a flight there right now, but what followed made my bile levels reach critical mass.

I’m sure Manhattan is adored by everyone who fits into the above mentioned demographic, but I personally despise it with a passion.